


Ghost

by Heliocat



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Afterlife, Aura Readings, Bittersweet Ending, Closure, Fluff, Ghosts, Goodbyes, Haunting, Hugs, M/M, Men Crying, New York Public Library - Freeform, Okumura Eiji Needs a Hug, One Last Hug, Ouija, Poltergeists, Summoning, Summoning Circles, Supernatural Elements, new ending, sayonara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27861589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heliocat/pseuds/Heliocat
Summary: Ash Lynx has never believed in the afterlife. Ghosts don't exist. There is always a logical reason behind any supernatural happening.So imagine his surprise when he becomes one.Ash haunts the NYPL. More specifically, he haunts Sing at the NYPL, and it is up to the young Chinese boss to help him finally cross over.
Relationships: Ash Lynx & Sing Soo-Ling, Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji, Okumura Eiji & Sing Soo-Ling
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	1. Haunting

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've had for a little while now. It's another sort-of fix it, in that the ending is bittersweet rather than truly happy, but I felt Ash deserved a second chance to say goodbye at least.
> 
> British English spelling and grammar, written while I sup copious amounts of tea. 
> 
> Many thanks to Akimi Yoshida for creating Banana Fish - this is a work of fanfiction, so I own none of the intellectual property.

Ash had never really believed in an afterlife. He wasn’t religious, and despite having a Catholic background he referred to himself as being agnostic, open to the concept of God or Gods but verging on the more dubious side of deities being a force or particle rather than an omnipresent, all-knowing being with a plan for everyone. If God had a plan for Ash, it hadn’t been a particularly good one, and Ash had rebelled against it at every given opportunity anyway, leading him to suspect that there was no God, at least not in the Christian sense. He didn’t believe in heaven or hell, his personal belief being that once you were dead, that was it; eternal peace in the void. He didn’t believe in the paranormal either, placing his faith firmly in the hands of science and reason. There was always a logical explanation for things; a breeze moving objects, electromagnetic fields messing with radio signals, dust motes dancing in beams of light, tricks of the mind brought on by paranoia.

Ghosts didn’t exist.

So imagine his surprise when he became one.

He went into denial at first. He remembered Lao stabbing him, and coming into the Stephen A. Schwartzman building afterwards. He’d fallen unconscious clutching Eiji’s letter, the last thing he heard being the voice of the librarian trying to wake him. The next thing he recalled was opening his eyes and he was stood by his usual seat in the Rose Room, the pain in his side vanished, the wound magically healed, and whenever he tried to leave the library and walked too far away from the entrance, he would somehow wind up right back inside. He tested how far he could get before whatever phenomena was going on reclaimed him, and it turned out to be the hot-dog cart by the bottom of the steps. When he tried to talk to people, nobody heard him. A few times, people actually walked right through him, like he was made of smoke, the feeling being mildly unpleasant, like a shiver up the spine. Whoever had just walked through him would apparently get the same sensation. What was happening was impossible. This had to be a coma dream or something, and he would eventually wake up in hospital and laugh about this.

Most infuriating was that he couldn’t interact with anything. His hand would pass right through objects and he discovered by accident that he could walk through the walls and furniture. It was quite vexing, because not only could he not talk to anyone, he couldn’t communicate in any other ways either. Neither could he just settle down in a corner somewhere and read for the rest of his afterlife; he made do with reading over people’s shoulders, but it was annoying when they couldn’t read as fast as he did, or if they turned the page before he was done. He would people watch too, privately criticising others on their dress sense or choice of literature. When the library was closed, he would wander the aisles and archive rooms, exploring hidden corners of the building he couldn’t access while alive, or he would settle down and do whatever it was ghosts did that passed for sleep. Days or even weeks would pass while he was in ‘rest mode’, time skipping by without him noticing. He’d settle to rest in a corner of the map collection room on a Tuesday, and all of a sudden over a fortnight had passed and it was a Thursday. Time apparently passed differently in the afterlife.

Occasionally, he saw people he knew in the library. Max came by fairly frequently to do research for his journalism, usually with a haunted expression on his face whenever he entered the reading room. Ash liked to mock him when he came in, poking fun at his old-man clothes and criticising his writing. Sometimes, he’d stick his hand through him for laughs; doing so would cause Max to shiver uncomfortably. He wasn’t expecting to see any of his gang in the library, but Cain started to frequent the place shortly after he died. Ash noticed he read books on law and crime, and as time went on the black gangster started to write papers on court proceedings and modern law. His clothing shifted from grubby street wear to far smarter suits, or else a college hoodie. Ash guessed pretty quickly that he had started studying law – seems Cain was going straight and was now in training to be a lawyer.

***

Three years passed before another familiar face knowingly entered into his domain. At first, he didn’t recognise him. He must be over 6-foot-tall now, and had lost a lot of his childish cuteness, morphing into a muscular and attractive young man. He’d be 18, maybe 19, just starting college at Fordham University, judging by the varsity jacket he wore. He still had the same shrewd eyes though, the same medium-olive skin and dextrous long fingers.

Sing Soo Ling.

Ash followed him around the library, watching as he read off a list of business practice books from a printed piece of paper, pulling a couple of them from the shelves and taking them into the Rose Room. Whether by chance or by fate, he sat himself in what was Ash’s old favourite chair, in the middle of the room where the sunlight from the window would warm his back.

“Ok, letssee…” Sing muttered to himself, flicking through one of the books. He made notes in a spiral-bound notebook, his handwriting scruffy but legible.

“You studying business, Sing?” Ash asked rhetorically. “I think you’d be good at it. What did you get out in the end? ‘How to Win Friends And Influence People’?” He placed a hand onto the pile of books, expecting to pass through them like he usually did.

He didn’t.

His hand could touch the books Sing had collected.

“Oh my God!” Ash gasped, surprised, pulling his hand back like the books had burned him. “Oh… my God! I can touch…” He touched them again, just to check he wasn’t imagining things. “Yes! I can touch something! Feels so weird after so long! Hahaa!”

Slowly, he tried to grab one of the books. His hands, however, sank right through the paper when he tried to pick it up properly.

“Damn, I thought I was onto something there!” he muttered. “Hey Sing – do you know why I can touch these?” He patted Sing on the shoulder, and the young Chinese man shuddered at his ethereal touch. He looked over briefly, clearly staring through Ash, frowning. “Oh yeah, sorry about that. I’m kinda cold!”

Ash tried to touch the books again, but found he couldn’t any more. His hand continued to phase through them over and over, and he eventually gave up, content to observe Sing make his notes for the next two hours before the studious teen checked his watch, sighed, and started to pack his things away.

“That the time? Eiji’s gonna worry if I’m late back again,” he muttered to himself.

“Wait, Eiji? Did you just say Eiji?” Ash said, perking up considerably. “Didn’t he go home? Hey – Sing!” He followed Sing out the reading room, through the Astor Hall and down the stairs out the front. “Sing! Where’s Eiji!? Sing!!!” He kept following him until the curse keeping him locked to the library grabbed him, depositing him back in the Rose Room by his old chair. “Dammit!” he swore, stamping a foot in frustration.

***

Ash tested out a theory of his over the next few weeks. Sing became a regular visitor, and each time he came Ash attempted to touch the things he had interacted with. He found he could touch books and furniture Sing had used, plus he could touch Sing’s bag, but he couldn’t pick anything up and he couldn’t physically touch Sing himself. He attempted to interact with other regulars to the library; there was an old man who came in most days to read fiction in a quiet corner and chat up the librarians, a homeless guy in his mid-twenties who Ash was convinced only came in to get warm and read the free newspapers on offer, and a studious woman in her forties who devoured papers on botany. He was able to touch none of their things, nor anything they had been in contact with. He’d try with random people, tourists and casual visitors, and could touch none of them. Sing usually sat in his old chair – again, he wasn’t sure if this was coincidence or fate, or maybe Sing just appreciated that position in the library same as he had. He tried when complete strangers sat in his old chair, wondering if maybe he actually haunted the furniture and not the library. Nope. He tried with the staff, wafting his hands through books carried by the librarians, attempting to touch their ledgers or trolleys; no joy. Max came in once too, and he tried the same thing with him, to see if maybe he was able to touch the things of other people who had known him well while he was alive. As with the people who were strangers to him prior to him becoming a resident ghost, he was unable to interact with anything of Max’s. As with everyone and everything else, his hands would pass straight through. Seems his ability was tied to Sing in some way.

“What makes you special, Sing?” he asked him, slapping a hand silently on top of his pile of books over and over again. He had discovered that while he could feel the books, for some reason he didn’t produce any sound. He figured he probably didn’t have any mass with which to create noise. “Why can I only touch your stuff? And why only touch? Why can’t I do anything else?”

He leant over Sing, peering over his shoulder at his notes. Just for fun, he blew lightly onto the back of his ear; he used to do this to Eiji occasionally, sneaking up behind him while he was reading or watching TV in the apartment, getting really close to him without him noticing and then puffing air onto his neck or earlobe. It would make him jump and usually he would blush bright crimson and shout at him afterwards. He was always really cute when he was annoyed, which only encouraged Ash to do it to him more often. He wasn’t expecting Sing to feel anything, but…

“Ah!”

Sing flinched and smacked a hand to his ear. He spun around, trying to see if there was someone behind him.

“Weird…” he muttered. “I could have sworn someone just… Nah. I’m going mad! Must have been a draught from somewhere…”

Ash meanwhile was staring at him in surprise. Apart from making people shiver like someone had walked over their grave, he’d been unable to interact with others before.

“That wasn’t coincidence, right?” Ash said. He couldn’t recall his old seat being draughty; it was part of the reason he liked sitting there. It was well placed to keep an eye on the coming and goings around him, and was far enough away from the entrance to be warm and quiet. The reaction from Sing confirmed that he had felt his breath against his ear. Ash tried again once Sing had settled down, but was unable to replicate the process. He growled with an exasperated annoyance at himself, trying again and again with no success until Sing left the library for the day.

***

It took several weeks for Ash to master the art of blowing cool air onto Sing at will so the young man could feel it. Each time, he would startle and look around, and each time would assume it was a draught. Ash found weird pleasure in pranking him and would laugh at his confused reaction. It became a fun game for him whenever he came in.

“Hehehe, I never get tired of that face,” he giggled, after blowing gently on his right ear and watching him peer around suspiciously with narrowed eyes. “Just a shame I can’t do anything more. I can touch these, but only to pat them. Aaaah, bet my hand will just go straight through these if I try this…”

He swiped a hand at his pile of books, expecting to phase right through them as usual, but instead hit something solid. His hand made contact with the top book and moved it a couple of inches, sliding it over the top of the one below with a sudden judder. Sing saw it and froze. To him, a book had just slid several centimetres with nobody touching it and no obvious cause.

“What just happened?” Sing whispered to himself, looking disturbed.

“That’s a good question,” Ash said, just as surprised.

Sing didn’t stick around much longer after that. Spooked, he couldn’t concentrate on his work, and packed up early for the day.

***

When Sing returned to the library a week later, he actively avoided Ash’s old seat and chose another place to study. Ash found it made no difference; he could still pat the books and blow on his neck, no matter where he sat. Knowing this, he spent the entire time trying to move the books again, but couldn’t manage it. If it was anything like the neck-blowing, he knew it might take several weeks or even months to perfect the act. He had to be careful too – the first time had obviously shaken Sing, and he wanted the Chinese boy to return. He’d been thinking that maybe if he could move a book, he may eventually be able to move a pen and, if he could do that, he might finally be able to communicate.

What he would say was another thing entirely. He hadn’t quite gotten that far. Did he just want to chat to Sing for something to do, or was the fact he was tied to Sing in some way linked to the reason he was stuck here? He knew he was here for a purpose; even though in life he hadn’t been a believer, he’d read enough about ghosts to know that they got stuck because they were unable to do something important in life. They often get attached to something or somewhere meaningful to them or linked to their death, which made perfect sense that for him it was the NYPL. The place had brought him a lot of joy and sanctuary over the years, and it was a fitting place for him to meet his maker. Ash thought he’d had a pretty fulfilling end though. He’d gained his freedom, he’d avenged his brother, Banana Fish was gone, and he knew at least one person in the world loved him unconditionally just for existing. He clearly remembered drifting off with a satisfied smile on his face… However, there was one thing he’d never been able to do, one tiny act of closure he’d been unable to achieve.

He'd never been given chance to say goodbye to Eiji properly. He’d been robbed of his chance.

Lao had stabbed him just after he’d had a change of heart and decided he was going to go to the airport. Prior to that, he had decided to, excuse the pun, ‘ghost’ him. He truly believed Eiji would have a better and safer life in Japan away from him, and by far the easiest albeit most painful way to achieve that was to cut him out of his life cold turkey. With any luck, Eiji would come to hate him or, even better, forget him and move on. It was reading Eiji’s final letter to him that made him realise what a dumbass he was being. He at least had to go and say goodbye in person, tell him exactly what he meant to him and wish him luck for the future. He deserved that at least.

Had he made it to the airport and saw his face again, he knew deep down inside that he wouldn’t have been able to say goodbye to him. He’d want Eiji to remain a part of his life forever. He’d have found a way to make it work and to keep them both safe. He’d have retired from the streets for a start. They could have left New York behind. Maybe he’d have followed him to Japan. There had been so many options open to them to explore. He’d never know now; he was dead and tied to the library, unable to be seen or communicate.

“Hey, Sing, that you kid?”

Sing looked up as a familiar voice called out to him.

“Oh, hey Max,” he said, smiling at the older man. “What brings you here?”

“Michael needs to read ten books this summer for school, so I brought him here to get a library card and pick a couple out to start with.”

Holding Max’s hand was a boy who looked to be around 9 years old. He looked like a mini-Max, with sandy-blonde hair and a button nose, but he had Jessica’s fierce eyes.

“That’s Michael?” Ash gasped aloud. “He’s gotten a lot bigger since I last saw him! Jesus, how long have I been here now?”

“Daddy said he’s gonna help me pick out some of his old favourites,” Michael told Sing. The way he spoke to the Chinese boy implied familiarity, like the two saw each other fairly frequently.

“Oh? Well, hopefully he has good taste,” Sing said playfully.

“How’s Eiji doing these days?” Max asked. “It’s been a couple of months since I last saw him.”

“He’s surviving,” Sing said, his expression clouding with something worrying. “You know how it is.”

“How what is?” Ash pressed, knowing he couldn’t be heard but keen to hear more. “What’s wrong with Eiji?”

“Yeah, he’s not been the same since then,” Max sighed. “He lost a part of himself that he’s never been able to get back, like his very soul was damaged. Shunichi told me he was prone to depression in Japan, but even he’s never seen him this bad.”

“Oh Eiji…” Ash murmured.

“He’s thrown himself into his work lately, which I guess is a slight improvement from when he wasn’t working at all,” Sing said. “Even I don’t see him that often though, and I practically live with him. He spends all day at the studio, then comes home exhausted and collapses into bed. If I didn’t cook for him, he’d probably not eat, not that I’m nearly as good a cook as he is.”

“Poor kid needs to cut himself some slack and take a break,” Max said, frowning. “He’s as bad as… well…”

“I think he works so hard because it dulls the pain,” Sing said sadly.

“He’s gonna kill himself from overwork if he’s not careful,” Max said. “What is it the Japanese call that? Kakashi?”

“Karoshi,” Sing corrected him. “I do keep telling him to take some time off, maybe go visit his family for a while, but he just gets all quiet on me and changes the subject, same as he does every time I try and bring up that day with him.”

“Hmm…”

“Maybe you should come round sometime with Jess,” Sing suggested. “He’d probably love to see you – maybe you can talk some sense into him!”

“I may just do that,” Max nodded. “Jess was talking about him the other day. I think she wants to do a collaboration, so maybe it’s about time we dropped into his studio to say hello.”

“Daddy? When we’re done here, can I have a hot dog?” Michael asked, swinging from his arm, clearly starting to get a little bored.

“Sure. That sounds like a good idea – I could go for a dog myself,” Max smiled. “We better get going. I’ll leave you to your study.”

“Thanks Max.”

“Tell Eiji I’ll pop in and see him soon!”

“Will do!”

Max left, Michael skipping along in tow, leaving Sing with an expression that was difficult to read. Ash meanwhile, had gathered a lot of information from the overheard conversation. Firstly, Eiji was living and working in New York. Secondly, he was clinically depressed, and it was likely his death was the primary cause of that. And thirdly, Sing lodged with him at least part-time and was attempting to look after him.

“I wonder if that’s why I’m linked to you? If you’re close to Eiji?” Ash asked him.

He got no answer.

***

Ash discovered that moving things was far easier when he didn’t think too hard about it. The more you concentrated, the harder it became. Eventually, he gained the ability to push light things belonging to or touched by Sing around at will, although it took a further two months to master it. He had to be careful though; he kept a close eye on the young man and timed his attempts to when he was looking away, or engrossed in his study. He didn’t want to freak him out too badly; his aim was to make his presence known once he was confident enough in his ability to actively communicate.

It sucked that he was limited to Sing though.

Once he felt he could confidently knock a book from the table, he made his move.

Sing was muttering to himself about statistics and profits when Ash carefully pushed one of the books to the table edge, allowing gravity to take over. Sing looked up at the soft ‘floop’ of the book hitting the floor. He leant down to pick it up, thinking maybe he’d knocked it off himself somehow, left it too near the edge and it had overbalanced. As he made to replace the book on the desk, Ash slowly but surely pushed a second book along the table edge.

Sing froze again, his eyes transfixed on the moving book. He looked around in a panic – could nobody see this? What the hell???

Ash pushed it all the way to the edge, pushing… pushing… flop. It fell to the floor at Sing’s feet.

“What the… hell?”

For good measure, Ash blew on the back of his neck too, causing him to shudder with a quiet gasp as he slapped at his nape.

As he had done previously, Sing packed up to go home early again. However, unlike last time, he flagged down a librarian, frowning.

“Excuse me, Miss…?” he asked, Ash listening in with interest.

“Can I help?”

“I was just wondering… and this may sound like a stupid question, but… is the library haunted?”

“Haunted?”

“Yeah…”

“Kid, I think you’ve been watching too much Ghostbusters,” she smiled.

Ash sniggered at that, adding under his breath, “There is no Aslan; only Zuul!”

“No, I don’t mean… fictional stuff like that. Like, has there ever been any actual sightings or paranormal activity here?” Sing pressed. “Specifically, the Rose Room.”

“Not that I’m aware of,” she shrugged. “How many people do you expect die in a library anyway?”

“Die… in a library…” Sing murmured.

“Yes, Sing, think about it…” Ash encouraged him. “You’re a smart kid - I can practically see those cogs whirring.”

“There’s been no official records of hauntings here anyway,” she assured him. “We do have a large section on other haunted places in New York, if local ghosts interest you?”

“No… that’s fine. Thanks for your help,” Sing told her, scurrying away.

“Hopefully Sing’s not too scared of ghosts,” Ash said, watching him leave, “Or this will all be for nothing.”

***

Sing returned later that week. He still had to study, after all, although when Ash checked the titles of the books he was reading they were no longer on business and were instead on the paranormal. He also had a leaflet about library dedications and donations. Ash messed with him again, pushing more books off the table.

“Cut it out,” Sing growled, “I’m trying to figure something out here! Oh – this may actually work!”

He didn’t seem remotely afraid or wary of him anymore. Clearly, something the librarian had said had clicked with him. After Ash pushed the same book off the table a third time, Sing finally lost his cool.

“OK, I get it, Lao!”

“Lao?” Ash wrinkled his nose. “You think I’m… actually, that makes sense. He was your brother and, technically, yeah, I shot him at the library.”

“Jeez – wait until after dark! I have an idea,” Sing muttered.

Just to be pedantic, Ash pushed the book off the desk a final time, like a cat taking offence to an object on a shelf, before leaving him alone.

“That’s for thinking I’m Lao,” he grumbled.

***

Sing broke into the library that night.

“This place is like a fortress!” he complained, strolling down the aisle of the Rose Room wearing black jeans and a dark hoodie. “Took me half an hour to find a way in – I’m seriously losing my touch!”

He was carrying a board wrapped up in a black bin liner under one arm.

“Told you I had a plan! I got this off some old spiritualist guy in Chinatown. I figured if you can push books and stuff around, you might be able to use this.”

He unwrapped it to reveal a battered Ouija board, which he set up on the same table his favourite chair was tucked under. Reaching into the pocket of his hoodie, he pulled out a chipped planchette, which he sat on the board, and a couple of tea-light candles. He lit them with a lighter from the back pocket of his jeans, strategically placing one each side of the board.

“Clever boy!” Ash praised him, poking the planchette experimentally with a finger to check he could interact with it. Luckily, he could. The board seemed to carry a strange aura that made touching it remarkably easy. Ash felt that, even if Sing hadn’t touched it prior, he would probably have been able to move the planchette around regardless.

“I’m going to feel really stupid if, after breaking in and setting this shit up, you don’t talk to me,” Sing said, snorting, “But we’ll see, won’t we, Lao!”

Sing sat himself in what Ash considered to be Eiji’s chair – the one opposite his and also the chair he’d sat in for his final hours so he could feel close to him - and placed both his hands lightly on the planchette.

“Now I’m here, I’m a little nervous,” he admitted. “The old man warned that you could get possessed by demons doing this sorta crap! But you’re not a demon, are you?”

“Depends who you ask,” Ash muttered.

“I guess first I should make sure you’re there,” Sing giggled nervously. “So, here we go. Spirit – are you here?”

Ash sighed, rolled his eyes, then touched the planchette and slowly pushed it over to the calligraphic ‘YES’ painted on the board.

“Holy shit!” Sing gasped, feeling the planchette move under his fingers, sliding smoothly and with purpose. He muttered something in Cantonese, which probably just meant ‘holy shit’ again. “It actually worked!”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Ash snorted.

“OK, spirit… I just want to check, because I just assumed... you know… seeing as you died outside and all… Are you my brother, Lao Yen Tai?”

Ash pushed the planchette towards the ‘NO’ with a little more force than was really necessary. At this, Sing let go of the planchette like it had suddenly electrocuted him, inhaling sharply in shock.

“Y…y…you’re not Lao?” he stuttered. “Th…then, who are you?”

Ash didn’t wait for him to put his hands back on the planchette. He was grateful his street name was short, which made this so much easier. He slid it over the ‘A’, then the ‘S’, but before he could push it to the ‘H’, Sing gasped out a breathless, “Ash?”

In response, he moved the planchette back to the ‘YES’.

“Y…you’re not after revenge, are you?” Sing whispered, the earlier embarrassed confidence he’d had vanishing, replaced with breathless fear.

“Kinda want to mess with him for thinking I was Lao, but I’m not that mean,” Ash muttered as he swung the planchette back to the ‘NO’.

“Oh thank God!” Sing sighed in relief. “I thought for a second… maybe… because Lao killed you…”

Ash wiggled the planchette in the middle of the board over nothing, reminding him that he needed to ask simple questions if he was going to get an answer.

“Why are you here?” Sing asked. He watched as the planchette hovered over a selection of letters. “E…I…J…I…” he read out. “You’re here for Eiji?”

Ash signalled to the ‘YES’.

“W…what do you want from Eiji?” Sing gulped.

Ash spelt out the word ‘S A Y’ before pushing the planchette down to the very bottom of the board where the word ‘GOODBYE’ was ominously written.

“You can’t move on until you see him again one last time, can you?” Sing whispered. Ash indicated ‘NO’. “Is it because of that letter?”

Ash hesitated before slowly sliding to the ‘YES’. How much did Sing know about that? He’d delivered it, but did he know the contents?

“Can you leave the library?”

‘NO’.

“Ash… I’m sorry,” Sing sympathised. “I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to help.”

Ash spelt out the word ‘B R I N G’, but Sing just shook his head.

“Eiji avoids the library,” he explained. “He doesn’t even go anywhere where the building is visible. He’s… he’s changed, Ash.”

After a pause, Ash spelled out ‘O K’.

“I’ll do what I can, but he’ll take a lot of convincing,” Sing told him. “Even if I do get him here, how are you going to tell him goodbye? Ouija boards are slow, and I imagine you may have more to say than just sliding a bit of plastic over the word ‘bye’, right?”

‘YES’.

“We’re going to need to find a better method of communication. Can you hold a pen? Could you write something? Or guide me to write it?”

‘NO’

“You’re not… Oh God! You won’t possess me, will you?”

Ash shuffled the planchette over the ‘NO’ before spelling out ‘C A N T’. He’d never really considered possession, and had no idea if he was capable of it or not, but the thought of controlling someone, being inside them… it didn’t sit right with him. That invasion of the body without consent, forcing someone to do things they might not want to do. It sounded a lot like rape with extra steps to him. If someone was willing to let him in, however…

“That’s good! No offense, but… I don’t really want you inside me…”

‘S A M E’

Sing giggled nervously at that.

”I wonder…” he pondered aloud, “A spirit medium maybe? But where are we going to find a decent one who isn’t a fraud?”

Ash couldn’t help but laugh; before he actually died, the idea of using a spirit medium would have been unthinkable. Now, however, it might be his best chance. The question now was who could possibly know not only a medium, but one who was genuine. An idea came to him. He moved the planchette over ‘M’, ‘A’, and ‘X’.

“Max?” Sing frowned. “How can Max help?”

Ash struggled. He wanted to sign ‘connections’ but the word was too long. Instead, he settled for ‘L I N K’.

“Of course! His media connections!” Sing said, his eyes widening as he understood. “He may know someone who can help!”

“Hey! Is someone in there!” A voice cried out from elsewhere in the library.

“Shit!” Sing swore, blowing out the candles. He shoved the planchette into his pocket and tucked the board under his arm. He grabbed the candles, wax spilling out of the wells melted on the top, causing him to swear again, “Fuck!” as the wax burnt his fingers. He shoved them in his pocket with the planchette, thinking he can deal with the wax stains later, before ducking down under the table.

A security guard entered the Rose Room, a beam of light from a flashlight scanning the room.

Sing crept quietly along the floor, keeping low behind the tables as the security guard started patrolling the room.

 _‘It’s been a looooong while since I had to creep around like this,’_ he thought. _‘Probably that time in the vents with the Russian dude was the last time I had to dodge a guard… at least it’s just the librarian night watchman.’_

Stealthily, he looped around the back of the guard – who was an elderly gentleman, likely just a couple of years away from retirement, and armed with just a panic button and a truncheon – and crept out the Rose Room before hurrying back to his entrance point, climbing out the window he had forced open, and sprinting off into the night across Bryant Park.


	2. Séance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sing convinces Max that the library is haunted. Max then introduces him to a spirit medium who can read people's auras.

Sing thought he’d been quiet and stealthy, but a quiet, accented voice spoke from the darkness when he closed the door to the apartment behind him.

“You are back late? I thought you might be staying with your Mother tonight.”

“Oh… yeah… I had an errand to run,” Sing said as he slipped his shoes off.

“At midnight?”

“Probably best you don’t know.”

“You people always tell me that. It only makes me worry more.”

Eiji sat perched at the kitchen breakfast bar, wearing flannel pyjamas and nursing a cup of chamomile tea in the gloom. He still maintained his youthful appearance, but he looked absolutely exhausted, dark marks under both his eyes and skin pale and sickly. While he still shaved most days out of habit, he had let several other personal grooming measures slide since returning to America. His hair, for instance, he wore in a long ponytail, having neglected getting it cut for over three years. He’d also stopped wearing contact lenses to correct his vision, finally losing his pride or maybe no longer giving a damn about his appearance, and had started wearing glasses instead. Probably the biggest change in him is that he no longer smiled, at least not happily. You’d get brave quirks of the lip from time to time, or grimaces of sympathy, but gone were the days of beaming grins and toothy smiles that lit up the room with joy and laughter.

Sing hadn’t seen him properly smile since before he had been shot, and that had been in the company of Ash.

“Why are you up so late anyway?” Sing asked him. “Don’t you have work in the morning?”

“Could not sleep,” he replied with a sigh. “Nights always seem so long.”

“Well, don’t stay up too late,” Sing said.

“I will go to bed once I finish my tea,” Eiji promised.

“Try and get some rest if you can,” Sing told him softly. “I’m heading up now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Oyasumi…”

“Oyasumi, Eiji…”

***

“Lobo.”

“Max – can I first assure you I am not crazy, but I do need your help with something that will make me sound like I am.”

“Sing? That you, kid?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Sing leaned against the wall by the telephone, having made the call after Eiji left for the day. “I need your assistance with something pretty urgent. Can we meet at the library later?”

“Sure, I’m free all afternoon,” Max said. “What’s this all about.”

“As long as he plays ball, you’ll find out later.”

“Who play’s ball? Sing, what-“

“Meet me at 1pm, alright?”

“Sure. See you later.”

“Bye.”

***

Max waited for him on the steps by the lions. Ash saw him arrive; he’d gone outside for some sunshine and to sit on the steps and contemplate his death, but he perked up considerably when he saw Max arrive.

Sing appeared just after 1pm, panting from having run from the subway.

“Sorry!” he apologised. “Train… was delayed… someone… dropped a large suitcase on the line!”

“No worries, I wasn’t waiting long,” Max said, waving a hand dismissively. “What was this urgent thing you wanted to talk about?

“Library’s haunted,” Sing said bluntly.

“What?”

“Library’s haunted,” he repeated, “by Ash Lynx.”

“I think studying has done something to your brain,” Max frowned, shaking his head.

“I can prove it!” Sing insisted. “Let me show you. Please.”

Max sighed, running a hand down his face to cup his chin. “You did say this would make you sound crazy,” he said.

“Please?”

“Alright,” Max nodded.

“Thanks.”

Sing led him into the library to the reading room, Ash following them both. Sing stopped by the usual chair, checking around that everyone was engrossed in their study and not paying them any attention, before pulling a regular ballpoint pen from his pocket and showing it to Max.

“Watch,” he said, and placed the pen firmly down on the table.

“Watch what?”

“Just… wait.”

Nothing happened.

“Sing, you’re acting delusional. The library isn’t- Jesus Christ!”

Ash swiped his hand over the table, sending the pen flying and causing Max to almost jump out of his skin in fright. It rolled under an empty chair at the neighbouring table and Sing retrieved it. Someone shushed Max for being too loud from a nearby table, but nobody else had noticed the self-catapulting pen.

“How did you…?”

“It wasn’t me,” Sing explained.

“It’s gotta be… maybe a sudden breeze?”

“You feel any draughts here?”

“No…”

“Look, I’ll try something else a little heavier!”

Sing pulled a paperback book off one of the returns trolleys and sat it on the table. Ash waited until Sing moved his hands far enough away to prove it wasn’t him doing anything before he steadily slid the book off the table.

“You think a breeze could do that?” Sing hissed, picking the book up off the floor.

“Holy hell…”

“It’s Ash,” Sing explained. “For some reason, he can interact with me. He’s been trying to communicate for some time, I think – I’ve been feeling weird cold draughts in the library whenever I come here. I kept thinking I could feel someone looking over my shoulder, and then suddenly books and things started being pushed off tables. At first, I thought it was my brother. He died outside, remember? So, I broke in the other night with a Ouija board I borrowed off an old guy in Chinatown that Yut Lung sometimes deals with, and he very clearly spoke to me – I didn’t even have to touch the pointy-communicating thing, he just moved it on his own! Spelled out his name and asked for Eiji, so I’m certain it’s him!”

“Blimey…” Max pulled out a chair and sat down, holding his head like he was dizzy.

“Blimey indeed,” Ash agreed. For good measure, he passed his hand through Max’s back, causing him to shudder.

“Haaah… someone just walked over my grave just now!” Max said, sounding a little afraid. “This isn’t a hoax, is it? This is real! He’s really here!”

“Definitely not a prank. It freaks me the hell out too! He told me he needs to say goodbye to Eiji to pass on properly,” Sing said.

“That’ll be tough. For one thing, Eiji avoids this place like the plague, and I doubt he’d believe you if you tell him it’s haunted!”

“Yeah, and a Ouija board isn’t ideal either. Apparently, he can’t grip a pen, even if he can fling one halfway across the room, so writing a letter is out. I asked. And unless he can find some other way of talking to us, it’ll be one slow farewell!”

“It explains why I sometimes get cold when I come here, if the kid’s haunting the joint,” Max said, looking around as if he would magically be able to see Ash.

“He suggested you might be able to help,” Sing said. “You have connections with all sorts of people! Do you know of any spirit mediums?”

“What kind of connections do you think I have, kid?”

“Well, do you?”

“Just so happens… yeah… I might know someone who can help,” Max pondered. “Did an article on them several years ago, but I’ve not contacted her since. Real whack job though; claims to be a clairvoyant who can see a person’s aura.”

“You could tell me unicorns exist - I’m open to believing in anything right now,” Sing said with a pained smile.

***

Max phoned Sing at home a few days later.

“Sing? She said yes!”

“What?”

“Her name is Zipporah Hubert.”

“Is that a stage name?”

“No, it’s a Hebrew name. Her parents were Jewish immigrants. I don’t think I need to tell you what happened back in the forties, right?”

“My own grandfather nearly disowned me when he heard I had a Japanese friend,” Sing shrugged. “World was a crazy, crazy place. Anyway, you said she’d help us?”

“Yeah. She sounded interested – she wants to meet up with us for lunch sometime.”

“When?”

“Are you free today?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“Grand Central at 12 then?”

“Sure. I’ll be there!”

***

Max was already waiting with a thirty-something woman when Sing arrived.

Zipporah Hubert looked every bit as kooky as her job description implied. She was short and stick thin, with the lanky figure of a teenage boy during a growth spurt, dressed in an oversize, multicoloured, hand-knitted housecoat, that appeared to have been knitted using whatever scraps of yarn and needle size was within grabbing distance at the time. Her dark hair was frizzy with tight curls that she clearly had tried to pull a hairbrush through with little success, a beanie hat shoved over the top attempting to force it into some resemblance of order. A long skirt that looked like it was made of Tibetan prayer flags playfully tickled her flip-flopped feet. She had thick, horn-rimmed cat-eye glasses that sat perched at the end of her nose, a spray of freckles adorning her cheeks. Blue eyes peered at him with an interested curiosity.

“Zip, this is Sing Soo Ling,” Max introduced him.

“Nice to meet you,” Sing said politely.

“You have a very interesting aura,” were the first words out of her mouth. She held up a hand and placed it on Sing’s chest. “There’s so much red! Fearless confidence, willing to take risks, but balanced out by blue, someone who is honest and truthful. A yellow halo. You are a born leader, and smart. Some muted violet too… spiritual? No… it’s the purple of prosperity. You have high hopes for your future. A visionary! You have the makings of someone who will be very successful! And yet I can see there is turmoil… guilt… something happened to you in the past you cannot move past. A friend… concern for them… and blame. You won’t be able to reach your true potential until that issue is solved…”

“Max…?”

“Scary, huh?” Max grinned. “She surprised me when I first met her too. I’ve always been a non-believer, but… after seeing what I saw in the library… and remembering how accurate Zip’s diagnosis had been… well, I think she’s the real deal.”

“Lobo’s aura has cleansed itself since then. He used to have large dark spots of regret and desperation, but they are all gone now, and the pale green of personal healing and peace has filled those gaps. There’s more love in his aura now, and the anger had faded. His aura is healthy and strong! Lots of lime green and bright yellow – the sign of a happy writer!”

“So, you think you can help us out?”

“You need to communicate with a spirit, yes?” she said, smiling at Sing. “I act as a conduit to the middle realm. I have a heightened sense for the space between worlds and my consciousness can open the gate. If your spirit is willing to work with me, I’m sure I can come to some arrangement with it.”

Sing blinked a couple of times at those words, trying to comprehend what she was saying.

“I think what Zip means is she can allow Ash to talk to us through her,” Max explained.

“Oh.”

They sat together at a tiny round table in a quaint English-themed café that Zipporah had chosen, where she ordered a fragrant pot of Earl Grey tea and a huge slice of Victoria sponge cake for herself. Max settled for coffee and a ham sandwich, while Sing requested a jasmine tea and a cheese scone. Everything came served on delicate, blue, floral-patterned china, that reminded Sing of his mother’s ‘good set’ she only got out the cupboard for guests and special occasions.

“Before I agree to anything, I must ask… is this spirit malevolent at all?” Zipporah popped a forkful of cake in her mouth as she regarded them with a bright blue stare. “If it’s an evil spirit, I’m bouncing right now!”

“Hmm. In life, Ash may have done many morally dubious things, but he wasn’t malevolent. Not really. A lot of bad things were done to him when he was a kid and life wasn’t fair to him, but from what I saw he remained a compassionate person,” Max vouched for him. “Sing’s the only one who’s actually had dealings with him as a ghost though.

“Well… I don’t think he’s evil…” Sing said uncertainly. “I communicated with him through a Ouija board, and one of the things I asked was if he was after revenge and he said no.”

“Ouija board? Your spirit is a poltergeist? Oh, they can be tricky!” she said. “They usually have a really deep connection to the place they haunt!”

“He just wants to speak to someone,” Sing explained. “He can’t move on until he tells them something important, and I think that person needs to hear those words too.”

“Ah – your aura shifted as you said that,” Zipporah stated matter-of-factly. “This living person is that friend you are concerned for.”

“…Yes.”

“I think I need to meet this spirit,” she said, curiously. “I can better gauge the type of person they were by seeing them myself. Even spirits have auras I can see. I will need a photograph of the person and something of theirs too if possible.”

“People at the library are going to think we’re crazy,” Sing muttered.

“I have that in hand,” Max said, smirking. “I asked them if we can film some scenes for a college amateur dramatics project. I dropped a few names of people I know, and they’ve given us permission to be there after closing time to ‘shoot’ some scenes. We can be alone and won’t be disturbed. And as long as we let them know the dates we’re ‘filming’, we can come back whenever we like. The guard will let us in.”

“That’s… that’s clever!” Sing praised him.

“I’m not as dumb as I look, kid,” Max grinned.

“Spirits are more powerful after the twilight hour,” Zipporah claimed. “After closing when the place is empty their presence should be strongest!”

“When I broke in, he was able to use the Ouija board easily anyway,” Sing said. “He could move the thing by himself.”

“He must have a strong will and a powerful mind,” Zipporah said, practically vibrating in her seat in anticipation. “I am now excited to meet this being for myself!”

“Do you want me to bring the Ouija board?” Sing asked.

“Oh no – I have my own tools and tricks for communicating with,” she responded, sipping her tea. “You’ll see!”

***

“It’s a lot less stressful being here legally,” Sing said sheepishly as the trio entered the reading room in the hours of darkness. “I nearly got caught by the night watchman when I was here last time!”

“A bit of danger makes things fun though…” Ash popped out from one of the aisles when he heard them enter. “Thought I heard your dulcet tones, Soo Ling! Max too, and oh, hey – looks like you found a crazy person!”

“Oh my! Yes – there is definitely a spirit here! I can sense them!” Zipporah said animatedly. She stopped with a gasp when Ash stood in front of her and waved a hand in front of her face while snickering.

“Lunatic…” he snorted.

“I see their aura right in front of me. Tan… and yellow… so bright and vibrant!” she exclaimed. “A scholar and a leader! Intelligent and respected, but he never asked for those traits. Clouded with red, but the red is a muted shade… anger at the past which has since been rectified, but which you cannot forgive. A crying child… oh, awful things were done to you spirit! Grey of mistrust… speckled with a blossoming pink of love, but the edges are murky brown. You are afraid to let go, but also to reveal your true feelings.”

“Holy shit…” Ash murmured. “What exactly have you guys been telling this lady?”

“I’m sensing a lot of energy around this chair…” Zipporah went straight to Ash’s chair, caressing the wood. “There’s a connection between this seat and the spirit you seek… I am getting… joy of study… a rush of affection and love… but also… deep sadness. A tragedy. Blood! He… he died, at this table. But it wasn't in this chair... Spirit, I am so sorry,” Zipporah said sympathetically. “You must have been in so much pain!” She sat herself in Ash’s chair, hands stroking the wood of the table, eyes half lidded. “I’m also… this chair here… the affection is strongest here…” she reached over and patted the table in front of what Ash considered Eiji’s chair. “Affection, and longing.” She gasped quietly then. "That was the chair he died in. This was his favourite place to sit, but... that was where he died. Something about that chair called to him that day."

“Eiji…” Ash murmured.

“Did you bring a photograph? Any belongings?”

“I snuck into Eiji’s room for these,” Sing said, pulling an item of clothing and a photograph out of a messenger bag we wore slung over his shoulder and placing them on the table. “The photo was easy; Eiji keeps them all hidden in a box under his bed. But finding something that belonged to him was harder – he wasn’t a material being, and most of his things were confiscated by the police, because I would have liked to have brought you his pistol or flip-knife, something like that which he carried at all times. I have access to his old computer, but it’s a bit big and heavy to carry, so the best I could do was this.”

It was his old varsity jacket, the one Eiji had practically stolen. Ash barely wore it, preferring his sturdy denim, but Eiji had taken a liking to the red jacket and borrowed it all the time.

“So, he still had that?” Ash said quietly. He reached out and caressed the fabric sadly.

“So young!” Zipporah commented, fingernails grazing his photo. It was one Eiji had taken of him sat in a window at dawn. “Such a sad expression. And this,” she touched the jacket, Ash moving his own hand away hurriedly so she didn’t brush him by accident, “this had been heavily tainted by another, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing if that person was close to the deceased. I’m sensing a strong bond between them. There is so much sadness surrounding this, I… it’s heart-breaking!” She looked at the photo a little closer, picking it up to examine in greater detail. “Wait… he looks familiar… has he been on TV? Or maybe in a movie? I’m getting the impression he is used to fame… no… infamy?”

“You could say that,” Max said, a tinge of sarcasm in his tone.

“He was well known in certain circles,” Sing said. “We’ll leave it at that.”

“Tell me, what is the spirit’s name?”

“Ash Lynx,” Sing said.

“Aslan Callenreese, if you want to be formal,” Max added.

“Aslan?” Sing quirked an eyebrow and stared at Max. “That was his name?”

“You didn’t really believe his real name was ‘Ash Lynx’, did you?” Max replied, lips upturned in a slight smile.

“Aslan. Turkish for lion – a powerful name,” Zipporah nodded.

“Turkish? Griffin told me it was Hebrew. Meant ‘daybreak’ or something,” Max frowned.

“Huh? Where on Earth did he get that from?” Zipporah asked.

“Never mind,” Max shook his head. “Lion or lynx, they’re both just big cats.”

“I will try to open the door,” Zipporah said. “If the spirit is willing, I’ll be able to communicate and can pass on messages.” She dug around in a ratty handbag and pulled out three candles, some incense cones, and a sage smudge stick. “The sage will purify the air before the séance. The incense will keep evil at bay and the light from the candles will protect my spirit while I cross the veil, and provide me a guiding beacon back again.”

“Load of nonsense,” Ash snorted, and judging by the expression Max was wearing he thought much the same. However, the older man said nothing and just watched while the crazy-looking lady lit the three candles and two of the incense cones, forming a triangle shape with them before setting the smudge stick smouldering and wafting the fragrant smoke around herself and her two companions.

“I must cleanse you both also,” she explained. “The purer we are, the easier this will be.”

Sing coughed a little, inhaling some of the smoke as she waved the stick in his face. Once the smudge stick stopped smoking, Zipporah placed it next to her out of the way. She folded the jacket and put it in the middle of the candles, the photograph on top, and she herself placed her hands lightly on top of the photo. She took a deep breath in, and a long slow breath out.

To Sing and Max, it appeared as if nothing was happening. Zipporah merely sat there breathing deep and evenly, her eyes closed. To Ash, however, she appeared to shimmer and glow a vibrant violet.

“The fuck is happening?” he muttered under his breath as the glow got brighter and brighter. The shimmering stopped, the purple lightening to a brilliant white, and Zipporah opened her eyes.

“There you are!” she said happily, looking him right in the eyes.

“You can see me?” Ash asked, frowning.

“I can see you, hear you – and might I say, you are a very handsome young man!”

“Anyone could say that,” Ash said, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That’s just a thing people say. Besides, you’ve seen a photo of me.”

“You’re wearing a long beige coat… Burberry, I think, with a black turtle-neck. The photo has you in jeans and a white T-shirt – very different!”

“Okay… yep. I don’t quite believe what I’m seeing, but you can definitely see me and hear me,” Ash said disbelievingly. “Then again, if you’d told me when I was alive that ghosts were real, I’d have laughed in your face, so I’m pretty much ready to believe anything at this point…”

“I’m Zipporah,” she told him. “My friends call me Zip. May I call you Ash?”

“Everyone else does,” he shrugged.

“Just to prove to them that I’m really talking to you and not a fraud, is there something I could say to them to prove I’m talking to you? It could be something only you would know about them, or something you did together that I wouldn’t have any knowledge of.”

“Something that proves… oh. I know. Two words: Banana Fish.”

“Banana Fish? Like the Salinger story?”

Zipporah heard Max take a sharp inhale of breath and Sing swore in Cantonese, so she knew for a fact that those words meant something to them.

“Best not to ask too many questions on it,” Ash said with a grimace.

“I won’t. That’s between you and these good people. Anyway, your friends tell me you’re stuck here. Generally, spirits who get stuck died with a regret. To help you, I’m going to need you to give me as much information about your final hours as you can.”

“That’s a loaded subject,” Ash said, wincing. “Has Sing told you anything about what happened?”

“Sing hasn’t said anything, but he assures me you’re not malevolent. All Max has told me is you died suddenly. Do you mind telling me how?”

“Sing’s brother, Lao, stabbed me,” Ash murmured. “Outside, in Bryant Park. He held a grudge against me because of… something I did in the past that I am not proud of. I don’t blame him for what he did; he was just looking out for his younger brother. I used to have a brother too, an older one, but he was severely disabled, so I know what it’s like. However, I did shoot him in self-defence. Could you… could you tell Sing I’m sorry?”

“Ash says he’s sorry about Lao,” Zipporah said, relaying his words. “He said it was self-defence.” Sing’s eyes widened as he looked at Zipporah in shock.

“I… I never blamed him…” Sing spoke in barely a whisper. “It wasn’t Ash’s fault. Lao knew what he was getting into, even though I told him to drop it… If anything, the fault lies with me…”

“Tell him it doesn’t!” Ash insisted. “I wouldn’t let him tell his boys about Shorter! It’s my fault! Tell him that!”

“He says it’s his fault, because he wouldn’t let you tell your… boys? You were in a gang?”

“I still am,” Sing grimaced, “for my sins.”

“He wouldn’t let you tell them about someone he calls Shorter?”

“Biggest mistake of my early leadership was listening to Ash when it came to Shorter,” Sing whispered. “So much could have been prevented if I had just gone behind his back and told them the truth. But he insisted I kept it quiet because knowing the truth would endanger us all – but we were in danger the minute we got involved!”

“Leadership is hard,” Ash murmured, crossing his arms. “Both of us made many mistakes. But I take the blame for this one.”

“He says you’re only human, and keeps insisting the blame lays with him,” Zipporah said.

“Ash… I told them anyway, in the end,” Sing said sadly. “After Lao, and with Golzine gone… I figured it was safe, and it would stop any tensions still remaining between them and your boys. Some of them cried, Ash. Shorter was like a brother to us, and once I explained the circumstances… they felt he died with honour and they thank you for ending his suffering. We all do. I told Nadia as well – you promised her an explanation, so I… I told her for you. She’s grateful he had a friend like you right to the end.”

Ash’s jaw tautened as he listened to Sing, his eyes burning with the sting of tears, but he somehow managed not to cry. “Can you ask him how Nadia is doing?” he asked Zipporah. She passed his question on.

“Nadia is doing well. She still runs the Chang Dai and has been dating that really nice police detective, Charlie, for around three years now. He treats her well, and they’re getting married soon. Yut Lung has also released the Wong family from their servitude to the Lee clan. I think he feels guilty over what happened to Shorter, but it took a little bit of manipulation on my part to convince him to do something to apologise and make things right.”

“That snake did that?” Ash sounded surprised. “Wow. I guess sometimes people can change.”

“It doesn’t sound like he likes this Yut Lung very much,” Zipporah said.

“Yut Lung changed a lot after you… err… passed. I may or may not have smacked some sense into him, and Blanca helped before he left for the Caribbean again, but he became a lot less malicious and vindictive and now focuses more on business matters. He’s quite pleasant once you get to know him. I help him as his advisor – he’s gained some better social skills and actually made a few friends. I think that’s all he needed all along; his brothers manipulated and abused him a lot as a kid, but unlike you, who had your gang and Shorter and then, eventually, Eiji, he never had any friends to support him. Ultimately, he was jealous of you for that.”

“I forgive him his jealousy,” Ash said. “But I cannot forgive him for hurting Eiji. He almost got him killed just because of petty personal reasons.”

Zipporah passed on the message, and Sing sighed.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Sing said. “I haven’t either. Eiji is my friend too, so I was angry at Yut for placing a hit on him for such a stupid reason! Yut still doesn’t like him very much, but he leaves him alone now. Eiji is far more understanding than either of us though, because he’s apparently fully forgiven him for everything! The two of them avoid each other, which seeing as they move in completely different circles is easy.”

“Eiji’s way too nice,” Ash smiled. “Trust him to forgive the very guy who tried to kill him.”

“This Eiji… he’s the reason you’re tied to the mortal realm, right?” Zipporah asked him.

“Err… translating that to English, I think you mean to say I’m here because of him, right?” Ash frowned.

“Yes.”

“I think so,” he sighed. “Eiji is this photojournalist’s assistant who accidentally got entangled in some nasty things I ended up involved with. We became good friends throughout the ordeal. He’s brave, and he helped me out a lot, but he was always an innocent party who should never have been involved. After he got injured, Eiji was supposed to return to his home in Japan. He doesn’t belong in our world – mine and Sing’s – so I decided it would be better for both of us if we never saw each other again. I thought he’d be safer and happier there, but Eiji means so much more to me than just a casual friend and abandoning him hurt. It hurt a lot. He wrote me a letter before he left the hospital. Sing delivered it to me right outside here, on the day he was to fly back home, and I read it on a bench by the hot dog stand. The things he said in it reminded me how stupid I was for pushing him away. I wanted to see him, even if just one more time, to tell him how I felt, but…”

“You never made it to the airport…”

“No. I was distracted enough that Lao was able to catch me off guard. He stabbed me just as I decided I was going to go to Eiji. The wound he gave me wasn’t instantly fatal, but I knew I wasn’t going to make it, even if paramedics got here fast. Instead of seek help and be denied at least a bit of happiness at the end while they poked and prodded at me, I decided to spend my last moments in my favourite place, re-reading the words from my best friend, the one person I cared about most. It was quite peaceful but, because I died with regrets, I ended up stuck here.”

“You need to tell him how you feel.”

“Basically… yeah.”

“Hmm… love confessions are difficult.”

“L…love confession?” Ash stuttered. “I just care about him a lot! It’s not a-“

“Love can take many different forms, Ash,” she told him sternly. “Just passing a message on won’t be enough in this case. It needs to be face to face, which poses two issues. One, you are a ghost. Two, your friends tell me Eiji avoids this place.”

“Sing and Max can persuade him or, err, you know… ‘persuade’ with gentle force if necessary,” Ash said uncomfortably. “Eiji has a tendency to trust too easily. Sing is smart – he’ll find a way to use that.”

“As for the ghost issue, there is a method we may be able to use that will give you ten minutes of visibility to make your peace, but it requires some prep time,” Zipporah told him. “I’ve never tried it before personally either, so I can’t guarantee it will work. I’ll have to go away and do some research, check the runes, contact other spiritualists to see if there is any danger of damaging souls or summoning things that should not be summoned. Live séance can be incredibly risky!”

“Ten minutes is all I need,” Ash told her gratefully. “I just… I need to say goodbye properly. That’s all I ask.”

Zipporah’s glow suddenly started to fade, shimmering and stuttering like a dying firework.

“Oh, my time in this plane is ending,” she told him. “Traversing the veil takes a lot of spiritual energy, and I’m running low on batteries. It was nice meeting you Ash – we’ll speak again soon.”

“Yeah… I look forward to it,” Ash nodded. “Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she smiled. “Thank me when you move on!”

The glow extinguished, and Zipporah turned to Max and Sing who were staring at her with glazed, disbelieving expressions.

“I’m not sure if I believe what I saw,” Max murmured. “But the fact you mentioned Shorter and Lao, and Banana Fish… I’m convinced!”

“He doesn’t blame me…” Sing whimpered. “After all the fuck-ups I made… he still… Ash…”

“To help him pass on, I am going to need the help of you two,” Zipporah told them, suddenly business-like. She pointed at Sing. “I need you to convince this Eiji fella to come here, by hook or by crook. Ash tells me you’re smart and will figure something out.”

“I may have to use some gentle force,” Sing said shakily, “but I’ll find a way of getting him here.”

“I, meanwhile, have some people I need to contact and some materials I need to source. Lobo, can I count on your help in getting things together?”

“Me?”

“Most of the stuff can be brought in a supermarket or hardware store,” she waved a hand dismissively, “I just need your manly strength to help me carry things around and set stuff up. We’re going to need a lot of salt, for instance, and herbs, and candles, and paint. And because the library won’t take too kindly to us painting on the floor and leaving piles of salt everywhere, probably a load of sheets as well.”

“I’m sure I can manage that,” Max said, scratching a cheek idly with his finger.

“Good,” Zipporah smiled. She turned back to her makeshift alter and blew out the candles. The incense cones had already burned out, and she swept the ashes into a little metal tin with her hand and popped it into her bag. “There’s nothing more we can do today, so I think we should pack up and leave for now.” She returned the jacket and photograph to Sing. “I’ll need the jacket back for the ritual, but you can keep the photo now. I’ll ring Lobo in a day or two to get things sorted.”

“I’ll see you home,” Max told her as she stood up from the chair and dropped the candles into her bag.

Sing looked around the reading room briefly before following them out. He sighed, before quietly whispering, “See you later, Ash.”


	3. Passing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zipporah conducts a final ceremony, and Ash gets to say a proper goodbye.

“I’m going to need salt. Lots and lots of salt. And not the fine table salt either – that stuff is too tainted. Get pure sea salt if you can, or rock salt.”

Zipporah phoned Max at home a week later, voice exciteable.

“What do you need salt for?” Max asked her sleepily. She had phoned at 6.38am, waking him up. Jess moaned in the bed next to him, so he took the phone out of the bedroom to better talk to Zipporah without waking his wife.

“Live séance can attract bad spirits. The salt will protect us,” she explained. “I also need red paint. I’ve already sourced candles and herbs and oil. Do you have any old bedsheets?”

“We have a couple, yeah.”

“Great! Bring them along! The more we have, the quicker the clean-up will be!”

“Exactly how much salt is a lot of salt?” Max asked. “We talking one large tub, or, like, a metric ton?”

“Hmm… how much would we need for a circle of at least 5m diameter, do you think?” she responded.

“I’ll see what I can find,” Max sighed.

“Great! If we can get it sourced quickly, then tomorrow night will be a great time to practice a summoning – the moon will be full!”

“Oh. Good.”

“So you’ll get me that salt then?”

“Sure thing.”

“Better let the library know we want to film on location again too,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening!”

“Sounds a plan…”

Zipporah hung up before Max could even say goodbye. He sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

“Better let Sing know that he’s gonna have to come up with some plan to get Eiji to the library…” he muttered. “I’ll wait until later though.”

***

Max waited until he figured it was safe enough to call Sing. Eiji would have gone to work by now, but Sing should still be home and getting ready to head into college. The phone rang three times before he answered.

“Okumura residence,” Sing said. “Eiji’s not here, but I can take a message.”

“It’s you I wanna talk to anyway, Sing.”

“Max? That you, man?”

“Tomorrow night,” Max said. “Apparently, it’s a full moon. Zip’s got everything together and I’ve already booked the library for our, ahem, ‘filming session’. I just have to get some salt.”

“Tomorrow?” Sing asked, surprised. “I thought I might have a couple of months to persuade him at least! I can’t convince Eiji by then!”

“Well, kid, you’ll have to think of some way of getting him into the library, even if you have to knock him out and carry him here.”

“If I hurt him, Ash will never forgive me,” Sing whined. “I’m already haunted by him – I don’t want a vengeful Ash Lynx on my back!”

“Well, you better think of something quick,” Max told him.

“Urrrrrgh…”

***

Sing spent the rest of the day trying to think of some way to convince Eiji to come with him to the library. He was unable to concentrate in his lecture, and he almost steamrollered into an old lady as he walked back from campus to the subway station deep in thought.

 _‘How can I get him to go?’_ he thought, frowning in frustration. _‘I’m going to have to trick him somehow… but how?’_

“Tadaima!” Eiji called out tiredly as he came home for the day. He shivered slightly as he removed his shoes and jacket at the door. “It is starting to get cold out!”

“Okaeri,” Sing replied, looking up from the magazine he was reading at the kitchen table. “I made some egg fried rice for you. It’s in the microwave.”

“Again?” Eiji sounded bored at the concept.

“I’m not much of a chef, alright,” Sing responded, miffed. “I can make egg fried rice or plain boiled rice. Maybe toast. Your choice.”

“Egg fried it is,” Eiji shrugged, checking the microwave briefly before setting the timer and turning it on to re-heat the rice thoroughly. “Thanks Sing. I mean that.”

“No problem.”

“How was college?” Eiji asked him as the rice pirouetted in the microwave.

“Oh, you know… school-y.”

“School-y?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.”

The microwave pinged and Eiji pulled the bowl out, hand protected by a tea towel. He grabbed some chopsticks from the drawer and took a seat at the kitchen table opposite Sing to eat. “Itadakimasu…” he muttered, before tucking in.

“Was work alright?” Sing asked him, conversationally.

“Yeah, had a couple of magazine shoots. Karen brought in a cake for my birthday a day early too, but we all enjoyed it.”

 _‘Birthday…? Oh shit – I forgot about that!’_ Sing thought in panic. He’d gotten so tied up with the Ash haunting incident that it had completely slipped his mind. Eiji wasn’t one for kicking up a huge fuss about his birthday either, so until today there had been no mention of it at all.

“I should be home earlier tomorrow anyway,” Eiji said. “I took the afternoon off. I’ve been exhausted lately, so figured I deserved to relax a little on my birthday.”

_‘Wait – this could work in my favour!’_

“Sure you do,” Sing agreed with him, smiling. “When I get back from college tomorrow, we’ll have to do something to celebrate!”

“What exactly did you have in mind?” Eiji blinked blandly at him. “Honestly, I just want to stay in and slob on the sofa with a tub of ice cream.”

“Nothing too strenuous,” Sing grinned. “Just leave it with me - I’ll come up with something amazing, you’ll see!”

***

The minute the Stephen A. Schwartzman building closed to the public, Max and Zipporah descended upon it with several bulging bags full of salt, fabric, and occultist tools. The night watchman tipped a hat to them and left them to their own devices, assuming they were setting up a film set with numerous props.

“Sing said he’ll bring Eiji here for around 8.30pm,” Max said. “That gives us a couple of hours to get… whatever this is, set up.”

“That’s plenty of time,” Zipporah said, dumping her bags on one of the tables. She pulled a large bedsheet out of one of the bags. “Help me lay this out in the aisle!” Max grabbed one side of the sheet and assisted her in laying the sheet flat and smooth on the tiled floor. “It’s a good job the library has such a wide aisle! We shouldn’t need to move any of the furniture around for this.”

Ash watched them work with interest, hovering over them and observing as they bickered. Zipporah got Max to sprinkle a liberal amount of salt in a large circle around the bedsheet.

“Remember, we all need to fit in the salt circle if it is to protect us, and there can be no breaks in the line or it will fail!” she insisted. “More is better than less to keep the protection strong! That’s why I said to bring as much as you could!”

“Yeah yeah, I hear ya,” Max muttered, crawling under a table to keep the line going.

Ash discovered salt was a thing he could touch. He kicked it experimentally, not expecting anything to happen, and found the line smudged under his foot. When he reached down and ran his hands through it, he found he could pick it up. He let some fall through his fingers like sand, relishing in being able to actually touch something. It made his fingers tingle pleasantly. Zipporah noticed the salt shifting around with her sharp, owlish eyes and giggled.

“Seems our young friend has found he can interact with the salt circle,” she tittered. Max grumbled something unsavoury to himself, picked himself up off his knees with a groan, and repaired the circle.

“Don’t touch, kid!” he warned, pointing a finger in annoyance in completely the wrong direction while Ash stood behind him and snorted.

“I do what I want, old man,” he sniffed haughtily.

“Proves he’s not evil,” Zipporah shrugged. “If he was, salt would burn him, and he’d be unable to cross over the line.”

“He may not be evil, but he sure is annoying,” Max responded. Just for that remark, Ash scuffed the circle again. “HEY!” Max growled.

“Oh, let him have his fun,” Zipporah said. “It must be nice for him to actually be able to interact with something. And he’s smart enough to know not to tamper with it when we do the actual ritual.”

“What are you drawing anyway?”

Zipporah was on hands and knees daubing red paint onto the sheet. She’d already painted a circle, and in it was now writing several runes and symbols as well as a large pentacle.

“Summoning circle,” she replied.

“Isn’t the five-pointed star some satanic thing?” Max asked her.

“Pentacles and pentagrams are common in wicca, pagan and other magical arts,” she said. “They actually offer protection from evil, but they have powerful summoning abilities as well. They used to be common in early Christianity as a protective charm. In Taoism, it is representative of the five elements. I put a candle at each point, everything gets purified with sage and incense, and I anoint myself with blessed oils to boost my own ability.”

“How does it actually work anyway?”

“The circle enhances and utilises my natural latent spiritual energy. A circle is perpetual, after all. It will temporarily turn me into a conduit, allowing the spirit to possess me. For all intents and purposes, I will become Ash for around ten minutes, give or take. The circle, however, is also a failsafe. It prevents the spirit from possessing me indefinitely or from corrupting me, and once my spiritual energy runs out it will automatically dispel him.”

“Thank God for that,” Ash muttered. He really didn’t like the idea of being stuck inside a crazy lady for the rest of eternity, nice as she was.

“With a bit of luck though, he’ll have enough time to make his peace and will move on before the circle boots him,” she said. “If not… well, I can only safely use this spell once per entity. So use those minutes wisely, Ash!”

“I plan to,” he said.

“The salt is to prevent anything else from getting _in_ while the ritual takes place. I’m leaving myself very vulnerable here,” she told Max as he continued to spread white crystals in a thick circle.

“Sounds it,” Max agreed, making sure to put extra salt in areas he’d been a little frugal in. “Ash is enough of a demon himself, without letting anything truly evil in as well!”

Ash frowned and scuffed the circle near Max’s hands again.

“Ooops…” he sniggered.

“GODDAMMIT KID!”

***

Sing had come up with a cunning plan, so cunning it could have been devised by a fox who graduated with a degree in cunning from the university of Cunningham. He called it ‘Operation Surprise Party’. He planned to blindfold Eiji, under the guise of leading him to a birthday surprise somewhere in the city. Using Yut Lung’s influence, he’d pre-booked a taxi cab with a trustworthy driver who would ask no questions and tell no stories. Sing had told him they needed passage to the flagship public library building, and he wanted dropping off outside Patience and Fortitude at the base of the stairs. However, the driver was to take a scenic route to get there, so Eiji couldn’t navigate by feel. Once Eiji was safely directed up the steps, through the Astor Hall and into the Rose Room, he would remove the blindfold and explain exactly what was going on.

It was a plan that grasped at straws and could fail at any time, but Eiji was naïve enough and trusting enough that it just might work.

“I’m taking you out somewhere fun this evening,” he told him with a charming smile while Eiji fulfilled his afternoon’s plan of sitting at home eating ice cream and watching a film on VHS.

“Where?”

“A surprise,” Sing said. “But you’ll like it, I promise!”

“Can you give me a clue at least?”

“That would ruin the surprise,” Sing told him. “Just be ready to go at 8, okay?”

“Hmm.”

At 8pm, Sing led Eiji to the waiting taxi, sat in the back with him, and pulled a length of long black fabric out of his pocket.

“I’m going to blindfold you,” he said. Eiji frowned at him.

“Why?”

“To keep the surprise a surprise, of course!” he said, as if it was the most obvious explanation in the world.

“I am a little worried about what you have planned,” Eiji said suspiciously, but he removed his glasses, folding them up in the breast pocket of his coat. He allowed Sing to turn his world dark and tie the blindfold over his eyes.

“Can you see anything?”

“Heh, no!”

“How many fingers?” Sing held up three fingers.

“Seven?”

“You’re good,” Sing told him, before tapping the driver on the shoulder. “Driver, you know the way!”

The driver went the most convoluted route to the library possible. He must have circled Manhattan by the time they arrived, using backstreets and sideroads, dropping them off at the base of the stairs like instructed.

“Can I take the blindfold off now?” Eiji asked him.

“No, keep it on. I’ll guide you,” Sing told him, helping him out of the cab. “Hold my hands, there are some stairs here! Careful!”

“Wah!” Eiji tripped up the first step, but Sing kept him upright.

“I did say there were stairs,” Sing said apologetically. Eiji laughed nervously, but managed to climb the rest of the stairs slowly with no issues.

“Seriously Sing, where are we?” he asked, blindly stumbling forwards as Sing led him through the Astor Hall. “This place smells familiar…”

“You’ll see soon – nearly there!”

“I’m kind of scared now. This place seems too quiet to be a restaurant or a theatre… where are the people?”

“Okay, we’re here!” Sing announced. “You can take the blindfold off now.”

Eiji did, replacing the blindfold with his glasses, and was greeted with the weirdest sight he’d ever laid eyes on.

A sheet with a painted magical circle sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by a huge ring of what looked like salt. Candles were lit, their flickering light illuminating the surreal scene with an eerie glow. When Eiji looked around, he could see thousands of books, the smell of vellichor strong in the air and mingling with that of burnt sage and incense, giving it the weirdly familiar scent of a shrine or temple record room, somehow sacred and holding all the secrets of the universe.

“This is…? No!” Eiji gasped, recognising the high ceiling with the cloud murals, the tiled floors and the rows of tables with their characteristic chairs. Sing had an undeniably guilty expression on his face as he turned angrily towards him. “You tricked me! How could you!”

Ash felt his heart squeeze hearing the pain and betrayal in Eiji’s voice, but at the same time he desperately drank in the sight of him.

“He hasn’t changed at all,” he said fondly, disregarding his long hair and the obvious signs of stress ravaging a body leaving him looking way too thin and ragged around the edges, instead concentrating on his youthful face, his expressive and warm chocolate-brown eyes, the fact he was still wearing printed tops with those stupid birds on them. “He’s still just as cute as I remember him being…”

Zipporah cried out in joy at seeing him, animatedly excitable and as full-on as usual as she bounded over, immediately getting right into his personal space. Ash dived out of the way so she didn’t inadvertently run right through him in her haste.

“Pink!” she almost screamed at Eiji. She waved a hand in an arc above his head while he stared at her like she’d just sprouted an extra head. “A halo of pink! Such a beautiful shade – like cherry blossoms! So much unconditional love and kindness! I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much pink in an aura before! How lovely! And pale turquoise… an intuitive healer. Silvery-white… innocence and strength. Some creative orange… the heart of an artist. Some faded red… competitive? But it’s long past. But there’s so much darkness here… murky brown and emptiness, spaces waiting to be filled with life, but you’re trapped in the past. Prone to depression… You are in deep grief, am I right?”

“Who is this woman?” Eiji asked, freaked out. He noticed with a flash of annoyance that she was wearing his old bomber jacket over the top of a rather ugly knitted coat, the one he never wore any more, but couldn’t bear to throw away either for sentimental reasons. Sing must have taken it from his room.

“Zipporah Hubert,” she held out a hand for him to shake, and he tentatively took it. “I’ve heard all about you, Eiji!”

“How do you know me?”

“Zip is a spirit medium,” Max explained.

“Max is here too?”

“This may sound crazy,” Max said, with a weird expression. He scratched at the nape of his neck, finding making eye contact difficult. “I thought so too at first, but I’ve seen irrefutable proof that… Oh God, it sounds so dumb when said out loud! Eiji, we’re pretty sure that… well, that Ash haunts the library.”

“What?”

“Eiji – hear us out!” Sing insisted. “I’ve been feeling cold draughts and strange presences in here since I started studying. Books started to be pushed off the table, and the draughts got more frequent, so I broke in with a Ouija board and-“

“Th…this sounds insane,” Eiji stuttered, looking angry and confused. “Ouija boards? Spirit mediums???”

“Ash spoke to me,” Sing said. “On the board! He spelled out his name… he asked for you!”

“Shut up, Sing! I cannot… you are speaking nonsense!”

“We hired Zipporah to help us communicate with him. Eiji, she mentioned Shorter and Lao and Banana Fish… this isn’t a hoax!”

“I can almost understand Sing playing a prank on me, but Max as well…”

“Eiji, you have to believe us! Would we lie?” Max asked him earnestly.

“This is cruel!” Eiji hissed. “It is not a very funny joke! Ash is dead and you… you drag me here, and toy with my emotions! I thought you were my friends!” He turned to storm out, but Sing grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Let me go, Sing!”

“Eiji, please! Trust me!” Sing begged. “Zip is the real deal, and Ash is here! He needs to… he needs to see you, Eiji. If you leave… Ash can’t move on!”

“Why should I-“

“Eiji… listen to Sing,” Ash said quietly. Eiji couldn’t hear him, Ash was certain of that, but Eiji still froze at his words as if he had sensed them, like a whisper on the wind. He touched Eiji lightly on the shoulder, enough that he would feel his ghoulish coldness, and the young Japanese man shuddered.

“Ash…” he whispered.

“I’m here, Eiji.”

Eiji hung his head and took a shaky breath to steel himself before he spoke again. He turned his head to look at Sing. “If I stay, and you do this ritual-thing and nothing happens… you must promise me – promise me, Sing – that you will never, EVER, pull a stunt like this again,” he said, voice dangerously quiet. His voice shook when he said the next sentence. “If nothing happens, I also want you out of my apartment by the end of the week. Real friends don’t trick each other like this. Go back to Yut Lung and leave me alone.”

Sing swallowed nervously. “Understood,” he nodded.

“Good,” Eiji said. “Let’s get this over with. I do not like being here.”

“Harsh…” Ash commented, staring at his Eiji in awe. “Never mind me; for Sing’s sake, I hope this works!”

“Well now, seems the gang’s all here,” Zipporah said happily, clapping her hands together and rubbing excitedly. “Shall we start?”

“We’re in your hand’s, Zip,” Max shrugged.

“Okay, I need all of you within the salt circle,” she ushered them in. “Ash too – I know you’re there. I can see your aura, and you’re nervous. Don’t get stage fright now!”

They shuffled inside the protection of the salt, Max looking grim, Sing looking like he was about to vomit, Eiji incredibly vexed and like he just wanted to go home. Ash hovered next to him, wishing he could touch him, could assure him that his friends were not lying and he was there, but he couldn’t. Zipporah was right too; he was incredibly nervous, jittery with anxiety and trying to figure out exactly what to say. He’d been yearning to see Eiji for years, and now he was here… he wasn’t sure if he was ready.

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready.

“You’ll excuse me for doing this, Eiji, but I need a spot of your…” she grabbed his hand and pricked one of his fingers suddenly with a sterile pin. He flinched, giving a small ‘ah!’ of surprise as she squeezed a drop of blood from his fingertip and smeared it onto some paper in a tiny circle. “Sorry about that! Last thing I needed for the circle to be complete!” she told him, as he stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked it. She folded the paper into quarters and tucked it into the pocket of the bomber jacket.

“Seriously, Sing. If you are, what is it Americans say? ‘Pulling my leg’, here, then it is not funny,” Eiji muttered.

“This is the real deal, Eiji,” Sing assured him again. “I’m not kidding this time.”

Zipporah picked up a small metal bowl of fragrant oil from one of the tables. She approached Eiji with it, finger dripping with oil.

“This is sacred oil, infused with herbs. I must anoint you with it. Don’t worry – it’s really good for the skin!” She blessed his forehead and got him to hold his hands out so she could dot his wrists as well. She then did the same thing to herself, muttering a protective spell under her breath in a language none of them could understand. She put the oil back on the table, took up a stance in the very centre of the painted circle, and beckoned Eiji over to join her. Reluctantly, he stepped up, Sing giving him a gentle, encouraging push in the back.

“This is stupid,” he said, glaring at Sing.

“Just… please Eiji. Trust us!”

He sighed.

“Hold my hands, please, Eiji,” Zipporah instructed him, holding her hands out. He did, and she took hold in a firm grasp. “Such gentle fingers!” she commented, giving him a small smile. “The hands of an artisan.”

He felt a little embarrassed by her forward words. So much praise for him that he barely deserved from a stranger who really shouldn’t know anything about him.

Zipporah closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, relaxing. As before, to the mortal onlookers it seemed like nothing was happening, but to Ash she started to gleam with a soft violet glow. Tendrils of smoky energy emitted from her, swirling in the dry library air. They wafted towards Ash, curling around him invitingly, enticing him to come forward. He hesitantly edged forward into the circle, not sure what exactly he was supposed to do…

“Step forward, Ash,” Zipporah encouraged him. “I open the door and accept you into myself.”

The glow heightened and a breeze that even the others could feel softly whooshed through the room, lifting dust from the shelves and shaking the light fittings. Sing shivered at the draught, taking a step nearer to Max. Eiji, meanwhile, lost some of his fed-up scowl, and started to look more wary instead, eyes darting around in confusion.

“I’m ready, Ash!” Zipporah said, her form hazy with ethereal light. “Make it count!”

Ash reached out, touched her form… and found himself drawn in. He gave a cry of surprise as light enveloped him, whisking him away.

Next minute he was standing in darkness, but he could feel something warm in his hands, and could hear mutters of disbelief.

“Holy shit! I mean… holy shiiiiiiit!” he heard Sing hissing.

“It actually worked!” Max, gasping in shock.

“Ash…”

He realised he wasn’t in darkness at all. His eyes were closed. Opening them, he found himself face to face with Eiji, holding his hands in his own. He was shaking; Ash could feel the vibrations from him through his hands, and he looked afraid.

“Eiji…” he murmured softly.

“How…?”

He looked down at himself, seeing he was there but… not quite all there. He released Eiji’s hands to get a better look at himself, holding his hands in front of his face, flexing the fingers and turning them over. It was like his edges were blurred with murky yellow, like there was some lag every time he moved. He instinctively knew he had become a spiritual skin on top of Zipporah, which allowed people to see and touch him, and gave him the power to talk again, but he could already sense her spiritual powers ebbing away.

“I don’t have long,” he said. “The medium can probably explain more later…”

“I do not understand… I do not understand anything…” Eiji murmured sadly, his eyes moist with the threat of tears. “Why are you still here?”

“Because I died with regrets,” Ash said. “If I could go back in time to my still living self, I would slap him!”

“You never came to see me again,” Eiji accused, a flash of something like fire in his eyes. “In the hospital. I waited, every day, hoping you might come back!”

“I’m sorry…”

“You always worried that being around you was dangerous, but I never once cared! I just wanted to be with you!”

“I know. I was a fool.”

“Asshole!”

“Yep.”

“Baka American!”

“That’s me.”

“It hurt so much… going back to Japan, and then hearing you were…”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Idiot!” Eiji cried.

“You were the one person who was always on my side, was always there for me, no matter what,” Ash told him fondly. “I should have been the same to you. That was my biggest regret; that I abandoned you for my own stupid reasoning.”

“Ash…”

“I tried to get to the airport that day,” he said. “I read your letter and… I tried. I wanted to see you just one more time!”

“I know,” Eiji sobbed. “For years now, I blame myself for what happened. If I had not insisted Sing deliver it… maybe you would not have been distracted. Maybe you would still be alive…”

“Why does everyone blame themselves for this? Sing over there carries just as much guilt, and it’s no more his fault than it is yours!”

“You deserved a long and happy life,” Eiji told him. “It is not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair,” he reminded him.

“Since you’ve been gone… nothing has felt right. I feel so alone…”

“You’re not alone. You have several good people looking out for you. They’ve been concerned about you too, as have I. Just remember Eiji – I may be gone, but my soul is always with you. Same as yours is with me. We’ll always be in each other’s hearts.”

“Oh Ash…”

“And ‘sayonara’ doesn’t have to be forever! You said ‘sayonara’ to America, right? Yet here you are. So… I will say ‘sayonara’ for now, but I’ll be waiting for you on the other side. Take your time, Eiji.”

“Ash!”

“Live a long life for me. Travel the world – see and experience the things I couldn’t! Find a new partner with my blessing. Be the happy, carefree Eiji I remember you being. Be free!”

Eiji sobbed deeply, messy tears cascading down his cheeks, unable to take his eyes of the apparition. He hiccoughed around his tears, trying to wipe as many away as he could with his coat sleeves only to have them replaced with yet more, his eyes leaking with sadness and regret as well as joy.

“Yeah, I know… pretty cheesy lines from me there. Very out of character! Sappy stuff was always your thing, but… I wanted you to know how I felt. How much I loved you.”

Eiji stumbled forwards and grabbed Ash in a warm hug, weeping. “I missed you,” he whimpered.

“I missed you too,” Ash said gently, his voice breaking as he reciprocated the hug. He felt Eiji judder under his cool touch, but at least with Zipporah as a conduit he was able to give Eiji one last cuddle. “I’m sorry.”

“I love you, Ash,” Eiji murmured quietly. “Forever.”

“I love you too, Eiji…” he responded. “I’ll see you in a few decades…” Ash suddenly began to glow brighter, his outline shimmering. He looked up, focusing somewhere on the middle distance, and he gasped quietly. “There’s a light,” he said. “There are people there… Is that? Griffin? My brother is there! So’s Shorter, and he’s got that stupid mohawk again, heh!”

“Shorter is there?” Sing gasped from the side.

Ash looked over at him and Max, grinning. “Shorter says ‘Sing, you’re doing great, man!’ and Griffin… Griffin wants to tell Max he’s sorry, and thank you…” A lone tear sneaked out of the corner of Ash’s eye and rolled lazily down his face. “Griffin says thank you for looking out for his Aslan…”

“Tell him he’s welcome…” Max said sadly.

“Thank you both… for everything…” Ash told them.

“Take care, kid,” Max nodded.

“We’ll never forget you,” Sing said, his voice wavering as he wiped tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Shorter’s waving at me… he wants me to go…”

“Go, Ash…” Eiji murmured to him, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to look. He fisted his clothing tightly as he gave him one final squeeze. “Sayonara.”

“Sayonara, Eiji…” 

There came a blinding flash of light. Sing and Max screwed their eyes closed as it flash-bombed the room, dust motes swirling as a brief cool wind lifted them into the air before settling. When Eiji looked up, it was to find he was now desperately hugging Zipporah, back to her usual self in her ugly knitted coat, but he no longer cared. Right now, he just wanted to be held by somebody – anybody. He wailed with loss and she held him comfortingly, stroking his back.

“You did good, Eiji,” she told him. “He’s moved on peacefully.”

“Ash…” he sobbed, as Sing and Max also moved in to comfort him, Sing embracing him from behind and apologising profusely through his own tears, and Max just placing a hand of solidarity on his shoulder while he tried stoically not to cry.

They knew that he had essentially lost Ash twice now, but at least this time he had got to say goodbye properly.

***

It took Eiji almost fifteen minutes to calm down, but eventually he stopped sobbing and let Zipporah go, apologising profusely.

“No need to apologise,” she said kindly. “You clearly loved him very much.”

Eiji bowed to her deeply in gratitude. “Thank you… for everything.”

“My pleasure.” She removed the bomber jacket, folded it neatly, and handed it back to him. “I believe this is yours too. Sorry that we had to borrow it without asking.”

Eiji laughed, accepting it back.

Max helped Zipporah to pack away the circle, sweeping the salt up with a dustpan and depositing it carefully back into the cardboard tubes it came out of, muttering as it mixed with library floor dust and would no longer all fit cleanly into the containers leaving him with surplus. He tipped the remainder into one of the library waste paper baskets. As he cleaned, Zipporah folded away the painted sheet and decanted the oil into a little glass bottle for transport. Sing, meanwhile, sat talking to Eiji at one of the tables.

“I’m sorry for tricking you like that,” he said earnestly. “I couldn’t see any other way of bringing you here though. If I’d told you the truth you wouldn’t have believed me!”

“How long have you known?” Eiji asked him.

“Known what?”

“How long have you known Ash was here?”

“A few months now,” he said. “But I didn’t know it was Ash until quite recently. I think it took him time to figure out how to make his presence known.”

“To think, he has been trapped here, all alone, for all those years, and I had no idea…” Eiji whispered. “Poor Ash…”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if while you were trying to study, he kept distracting you,” Sing muttered. Eiji giggled.

“He was annoying in an endearing way,” he said, smiling, the first true smile Sing had seen him make for several years. Looking closer, Sing noticed a difference in his stance and demeanour too. He no longer looked so pained and haunted; there was a twinkle of life back in his eyes, and a renewed energy bubbling just under the surface, hints that the old Eiji had returned.

“Happy Birthday,” Sing told him.

“Thanks.”

“That’s not all I got you either,” Sing said. “Come look at this!” Sing stood and led him over to what used to be Ash’s old chair. He knelt down and pointed to a small bronze plaque screwed to the back of it.

“What is this?”

“You can dedicate a chair in the room to someone, and I always got the strongest hauntings when I sat here. Zipporah confirmed it had strong links to Ash,” Sing said.

“He did always sit here…” Eiji said quietly. “The same chair, every time.”

“Yut Lung donated some money, and I had them dedicate this chair in his memory. Max let me know his real name, and they installed this plaque this morning.”

Eiji squinted at the plaque, reading the inscription, running over the words softly with a finger.

_‘In memory of Aslan ‘Ash Lynx’ Callenreese, 1968-1986. Boss, brother, best friend.’_

“Sing…” he breathed. “It's perfect.”

“Does this mean I’m welcome back in the apartment?” Sing asked, jokingly.

“Well, considering everything that has happened… I think, in time, I can learn to forgive you,” Eiji smirked. “Besides, who will make me egg fried rice if you are not there?”

“Is that all I am to you? A rice chef?”

“We’re all cleared up here, boys,” Max called to them, shoving the last of the salt cannisters into a bag while Zipporah tottered besides him weighed down with bags of her own. “We should leave before the watchman gets suspicious that we’re not just here shooting a movie.”

“Let’s go home, Sing,” Eiji said, still smiling.

“Yeah.”

The four of them left the library, pensive with thoughts, sad that a good friend had finally been laid to peaceful rest, but happy that he was able to pass over and was in a better place. Eiji especially felt like a huge weight had been lifted; his steps a little lighter, his back a little straighter, his mind a little clearer and less clouded.

“The darkness has gone,” Zipporah told him, squinting at his aura again as they descended the stairs. “It’s pinker than ever, and the green of self-healing is replacing the murky patches… I think you’ll be just fine, Eiji. You too, Sing; your regrets have vanished and that tiny violet patch is expanding to fill the gaps. You’ll reach your full potential now, I’m certain of it!”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Sing said lightly. “Thanks, Zip!”

“Send some of that good fortune my way, why don’t you,” Max laughed, patting his shoulder.

Eiji paused halfway down the stairs, standing between the lions. He turned to take one last look back at the library entrance.

 _‘Sayonara, Ash…’_ he thought. _‘Until we meet again._ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eiji's English has improved a lot, but he still uses some Japanese (and Sing is learning Japanese too - this is canon, so it's not too unrealistic to imagine them greeting each other in Japanese at the door). In case you are new to anime/manga or know no Japanese, here's some translations:  
> Kakashi - Scarecrow.  
> Karoshi - Death by overwork.  
> Tadaima - I'm home.  
> Okaeri(nasai) - Welcome back.  
> Oyasumi(nasai) - Goodnight.  
> Itadakimasu - I gratefully receive (grace before eating).  
> Baka - Idiot/dumbass.  
> Sayonara - I don't think you really need an explanation for this one, but it means 'farewell', specifically 'farewell forever' or 'I do not know when we will meet again'. 
> 
> Writing the ending made me sad :( but also happy because fluff. And Zipporah is a joy to write! Please note: any summoning practices or aura reading descriptions used are NOT based on any existing supernatural practice or belief. They are unique to Zipporah and my own imagination, and no offence was meant towards people with beliefs in paganism, wicca or other spiritualist followings was meant with any inaccuracies in writing. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
